


Prognosis

by sawbones



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Confessions, M/M, Miscommunication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 13:40:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15316689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sawbones/pseuds/sawbones
Summary: Doc finally gets to the root of a mystery illness that has been plaguing Rook.





	Prognosis

It had been a relatively quiet day for Gustave, or at least as quiet as they came since he’d joined Rainbow. In the morning, James and Mark came by to beg some aspirin off him and left with an earful about how drinking to excess while technically on duty was hideously irresponsible - as well as the painkillers, of course. Gustave wasn’t a  _ cruel _ man. 

Following that, he had scheduled a discreet check-up with Lera shortly before lunch, and was pleased to see that she might have taken his advice on how overworking herself would cause more harm than good to the progression of her condition. It seemed as stable as either of them had seen it in some time, a fact which brought both of them no small measure of happiness. Like any of the Russians, Finka’s smile was rare and slow to come, but it could light up the room.

After lunch - a sandwich, a single green apple, and a cup of weak black tea, the same as every other day - there had been a cordial but brief video call with Six who wanted to pick his brain over the medical and physiological histories of some prospective operators. He wasn’t sure how much he was able to help, but he appreciated the fact she seemed to hold his opinion of high regard.

Since the call, however, his day had more-or-less been his own. No disaster struck the base, no emergency dropped into his lap. Jordan didn’t nearly burn his hands beyond use  _ again _ , Ryad hadn’t came back for the sleep aids Gustave had talked him into at least trying, not even Dominic had showed up for...well, any of the hundreds of reasons Dominic usually ended up in his office. Self-inflicted, mostly. It was quiet, almost suspiciously so, but Gustave wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

He indulged himself with an admittedly dry but assuredly important medical journal on counter-balancing the negative interactions between ephedrine and NDRI-type antidepressants. Several operators were on antidepressants, though mostly SSRIs, but it was always good practice for a doctor to consider the interplay of drugs. He had just put pen to paper in order to jot down some concerns to test for later when a sudden knock at his door nearly made him jump. 

Gustave glanced at the clock with a mild frown. It was about twenty minutes until official Dinner Time on the base, and though many operators - himself included - prefered to eat later when the canteen had emptied out and  _ mostly _ de-booby trapped, it was still unusual that someone would come by at such a time. It was even more unusual that they’d knock first.

“Come in,” he said, through his trepidation vanished when a familiar face peeked round the door.

“Ah. Afternoon, Doc,” Julien said. He glanced down at the journal on Gustave’s desk, “I’m not disturbing you, am I?”

“Not at all, I always have time for you,” Gustave said, and he meant it. He made himself available to any of Rainbow that needed him, but he had a particular soft-spot for his younger compatriot, “Please, come. Have a seat.”

Julien didn’t say anything, simply nodded with a tight lipped smile as he came in and shut the door behind him. He was dressed in workout clothes, a casual t-shirt and sweatpants, but he looked uncomfortable. His posture was a little stiff even as he slid into the chair on the other side of the desk, and Gustave couldn’t help but notice there was a slight flush in his cheeks. 

“How can I help you today, Julien?” he asked when it became apparent he wasn’t going to speak unprompted.

“I don’t feel well,” Julien said, shifting in his seat, “Again.”

Gustave nodded, “The same symptoms as before?”

“Worse this time,” he said.

Nausea. Headaches. Dizziness. Nothing so severe that it disrupted missions or put him at risk, but Julien had been to see him three times in two months about it already. Each time, he hadn’t been able to find the cause. Each time, Julien had been a little more uncharacteristically withdrawn. If things were getting worse, it was no longer just a nuisance, it was a concern. 

“Hmm. Alright. Well, I’m going to take some bloods again, but first we’ll do a quick physical exam just to see if anything has changed.” Gustave said as he got to his feet, “If you want to step behind the curtain and undress, I’ll be with you in just a moment.”

Obviously Julien knew what to do, but he still said the same thing each time. He didn’t want him to feel like an inconvenience, or that he was too familiar in the medbay. He still seemed hesitant at first, however, not making a move until Gustave dropped a freshly opened box of vinyl gloves on the table. It was tempting to look up when he heard the curtain being drawn, to watch the silhouette of his teammate undress like he was at a cheap burlesque show, but Gustave kept his head down.

“Are you alright in there, Julien?” he asked, adjusting his gloves. There was an affirmative hum, so he slipped inside the curtained-off section. The curtain was just for peace of mind, really, since they were in his office and not the infirmary. There was only one bed - an examination table, not a proper bed - and he’d remembered to lock the door to make sure they wouldn’t be disturbed. 

Still, Julien looked almost shy as he perched on the edge of the bed, his shoulders hunched, his hands curled in his lap. His t-shirt and sweatpants were folded neatly beside him. Gustave could see the flush on his cheeks reached his neck. If he wasn’t a consummate professional, Gustave might have thought he looked almost cute, but as his doctor, he was a little worried to see him so subdued. 

“You’ve been getting enough rest, yes?” Gustave asked as he fished his stethoscope out his pocket. He warmed the metal in his hand for a moment, “Eating regularly?”

Julien nodded, but of course Gustave already knew the answers anyway. He was familiar with the habits of most of the operatives at that point, aside from the deliberately obtuse - Chul Kyung, Pereira, they could keep their secrets. He wouldn’t pry. The rest of the GIGN, however - he knew them almost as well as he knew himself, and he was proud of that fact.

Julien flinched a little when he pressed the flat of the stethoscope to his bare chest, though Gustave knew it couldn’t be cold. He listened carefully, counting the beats in his head. He thinned his lips.

“Your resting heart-rate is a little elevated for someone of your fitness levels,” he said, “Have you just came from the gym, or--”

_ \--are you just nervous? _

Julien shook his head. Gustave reached around him to listen to his breathing with the disc on his back. His lungs sounded perfectly clear, though he couldn’t help but feel the heat radiating from Julien, even through the cotton of his shirt. He leaned back and hung his stethoscope around his neck, moving on to check his temperature with an ear thermometer.

“Warm, but not feverish,” he commented, pressing the back of his hand to Julien’s forehead to confirm. He wasn’t even clammy, but Gustave didn’t miss the way his lashes fluttered at the contact. Increased sensitivity? He checked his pupils, gently pulling his lids with the pad of his thumb. Dilated, but clear and responsive. 

Gustave breezed through the rest of the physical with no startling revelations. Blood pressure was normal, reflexes were normal, there were no rashes or lesions he could see anywhere on his body (and with only his boxer-briefs to hide behind, he could see a  _ lot _ of Julien’s body). His patient remained quiet but agreeable throughout, letting himself be poked and prodded with minimal fuss, though his cheeks were a ruddy red by the end of it. Embarrassment, perhaps? Or stress.

“Well, I’m sure you can guess what my diagnosis is this time,” Gustave said with a small sigh. He nibbled on the cookie Julien had declined after having his blood samples taken, not bothering to take his gloves off. Unprofessional, yes, but it  _ was _ chocolate chip, “Inconclusive.”

It was frustrating, but it seemed Julien really was in perfect health. It was possible that there could be a deeper underlying problem that he simply didn’t have the equipment to diagnose, but usually there would be  _ some _ kind of measurable symptom along with it. 

Unless, of course, Julien was faking.

It had occurred to Gustave after their second fruitless examination, but he’d quickly dismissed it. His discomfort was clearly genuine, but more than that, he simply didn’t have the narcissistic or attention-seeking make-up of a hypochondriac, nor had he tried to use his phantom-illness to leverage drugs out of him - both of which Gustave had already encountered in Rainbow. Julien cared deeply about both his colleagues and their shared objective, and would never do anything to jeopardise that.

“I’m afraid that at this point, the only logical progression would be to refer you to a hospital,” Gustave said, brushing the cookie crumbs from his gloves, “They can provide you with a depth of testing and eventual care that I unfortunately cannot - MRI scans, more advanced screenings, things like that.”

“Is that really necessary, Doc?” Julien asked, his fingers gripping the edge of the bed, “Perhaps we could-- you could maybe just-- run the tests again, or something?”

“I don’t want this to get any worse, whatever it is. I know you don’t want to be pulled from active duty, but really this is the only way we can move forward,” Gustave said. He went to tug off his gloves since the examination was over, but Julien grabbed him by the wrist.

“Wait, you don’t need to…”

Julien trailed off, his eyes wide, his lip caught between his teeth, and Gustave suddenly wasn’t sure if he was going to beg him to keep him on duty or to keep his gloves on. 

Elevated heartbeat. Dilated pupils. Increased body temperature. Gustave narrowed his eyes. Symptoms of illness, yes - and  _ arousal _ .

“Julien,” he said, softly, sharply, “Are you going to tell me what is going on here?”

His compatriot let go of his wrist like it had burned him, suddenly unable to meet his eye. That was the only answer he needed. Gustave recoiled, not sure whether to be angry or disgusted or-- or flattered, or  _ interested _ . He was riddled with embarrassment that his quiet favouritism had clouded his judgement, since all at once it seemed so obvious. By all accounts, he should have pulled back the curtain and demanded Julien leave, but he didn’t. He waited for an explanation with his hands on his hips.

“You’ve been lying to me,” he said, “For what, a game? A fetish?”

Julien’s head snapped up at that, his mouth agape. His expression was genuinely hurt, “Doc, no, it’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like?” Gustave demanded. Julien seemed unable to answer, “I should report you for this, you know. For wasting my time, at the very least, nevermind how completely inappropriate this is - whatever  _ it  _ is.”

“Doc…”

“I won’t, but I should,” Gustave went on. He still hadn’t moved from his spot. He didn’t know what he was expecting from Julien, “I’m just sorry I clearly misjudged your character so severely. I never thought you of all people would take advantage of someone who trusts you, just to indulge in some fetish--”

“It’s not a fetish,” Julien blurted.

Gustave’s eyebrows bounced up to his hairline, “What is it then?”

“You,” Julien said, dropping his gaze again, “It’s just you.”

Gustave didn’t know what to say to that, if he could say anything at all. His brain was reluctant to process what Julien was even trying to tell him. It would be easier if it was a fetish thing.

“So, you’re saying that you have been faking this illness for months, just so you could get me to feel you up with your clothes off?” he said, finally turning and pushing the curtain open. He crossed the room to sit behind his desk again, dropping his gloves in the bin on the way past; at the mention of clothes, Julien seemed to only just remember he was half naked. He began to hurriedly pull his sweatpants back on.

“It sounds so sordid when you say it like that,” he mumbled, “I just-- I don’t know. I really did feel unwell the first time, I swear I did - a bug, I think, something that went away after a few days. But I had liked you for so long, and you had been so gentle with me, so attentive and...I wanted more. I wanted more of you.”

Gustave sighed, leaning forward on his elbows. He really did like Julien. He was polite and hardworking, with the sort of personality that helped even the most awkward teams pull together. He was bright and idealistic in a way that reminded Gustave a lot of himself at that age. So what was he doing?

“I was worried about you, you know,” he said, “I spent a lot of time once you’d left here trying to figure out what was wrong before Six had you pulled as a precaution.”

Julien looked unbearably guilty. He took a step towards the seat across from Gustave; he sat down after a nod gave him permission to.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “For making a fool of both of us. I went about this completely the wrong way.”

Gustave rubbed his chin, “These feelings. You do realise it’s almost certainly just because you’re instinctively looking for someone you consider to be safe due to constant exposure to high-risk situations, yes?”

“I’m not a  _ child _ , Doc,” Julien said, and it was his turn to frown.

“You’re certainly acting like one,” Gustave scoffed. He sat back in his chair, his arms crossed, “Really - you can step in front of a bullet but you can’t confess to a little crush?”

“I have armour for the bullet.”

Gustave was sure it wasn’t meant to sting, but somehow it still did. He felt his shoulders drop a little, losing his defensiveness against all better judgement, “Am I really so intimidating?”

“No,” Julien said, “I just don’t want to disappoint you.”

“A little late for that now,” Gustave said, and Julien’s answering smile was sad. 

“I should go,” he said as he got to his feet, turning to the door. With his hand on the lock, he stopped and glanced back over his shoulder.

“For the record, Doc, I don’t like you because you’re quote-unquote safe. I like you because you’re kind, and passionate, and you never give up on people. You’re selfless and smart and dedicated. You don’t compromise on your convictions even when people tell you you’re just an idealist, and I admire the hell out of that,” he said. He paused, bit his lip, “--and, well, you’re a  _ total _ silver fox.”

The fact that Gustave’s first instinct was to protest that he wasn’t old enough to be a silver fox yet - he was only twelve years older than than him - quietly horrified him, but he swallowed it down as Julien disappeared, the door closing with a finite click behind him. Gustave stared at the spot where he’d been standing so hard that he could have burned holes in the wood. His stomach was clenched, maybe from nerves or excitement.

Well, who wanted the quiet life anyway?

He pushed himself to his feet so fast he nearly knocked over his chair. He wrenched the door open and stuck his head out just in time to see a figure about to turn the corner at the end of the corridor.

“Julien, wait!”

Julien paused. He turned, cautiously hopeful. Gustave smiled.

“Next time,” he said, “Just ask me out for coffee. I might even say yes.”


End file.
